


Bring Me To Life

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: Two 'dead' men. One bench. One kiss.





	Bring Me To Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xLostLenore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLostLenore/gifts), [Michaelssw0rd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/gifts).



> I [drew my first Rinch fanart](http://talking2thesky.tumblr.com/post/163018001813/imminent-bench-kissesi-traced-99-of-this-from) and xlostlenore messaged me requesting a fic to go with it. I went for roughly Season 2 era with references to 1 and 3, from John's PoV.
> 
> See also Michaelssw0rd's [wonderful season 4 version from Harold's PoV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9437345/chapters/25859952). We did not tell each other we were both writing for this, but our brains often work similarly. And the fanart wouldn't exist in the first place if not for her being the most supportive, amazing friend.
> 
> P.S. My apologies for going with the Evanescence teen angst title, but if you forget about the fact it's the most emo song ever written, the lyrics are fairly appropriate. (Also I'm sick with sinus flu and too tired to come up with a better title.)

The last two times they met up here had been bitterly cold, early mornings.

 

Not so, today. It's almost lunchtime, and they arrive together instead of separately. Harold parks on the road nearest the river and gets out, leaving his jacket in the car. It's a sunny day. John had been surprised they weren't taking Bear for a walk, but now he thinks he knows why.

 

Doesn't hurt to ask. "What are we doing back here, Finch?" He falls into step with Harold as they walk across the grass.

 

Harold gives him a small, precious smile. "Call me sentimental..." he replies, with a chuckle. John's heart warms further.

 

Finch looks unusually relaxed in his vest and shirtsleeves. Then he undoes the cuffs and rolls them up to his elbows. John tries not to stare, instead thumbing open a couple of buttons on his own shirt. Before he sits down, John shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the end of the bench. Their bench. Under the bridge where they first met.

 

"I find this is the most appropriate location to discuss...matters of emotional weight." Harold begins, once John is settled beside him.

 

Eyes on the water, John nods. Harold is nervous, it's there in his voice if you know how to listen. John realizes the change of dress is an attempt to distance them from work and bring them closer to personal.

 

He can only conclude that this is happening now.

 

He'd thought Harold would simply ignore his offer, the same way he'd ignored every one of John's flirtations so far.

 

Then Harold takes a deep breath and continues: "I thought we ought to talk about...a few nights ago. Did you mean what you said about wanting to kiss me?"

 

Out here in the open, the matter-of-fact question brings a flush to John's neck. He'd been full of adrenaline at the time, arriving back home to the library, high on satisfyingly administered justice and the results of Finch's brilliant brain.

 

And not a single word had been a joke. "I meant it."

 

Harold makes a small noise, somewhere between a sigh and a gasp.

 

John risks a glance at him. The expression of longing on Harold's face is a shock, it twists at John's insides. He's not alone in this. He quickly looks away.

 

"I'm glad," Finch says, at last.

 

They lapse into comfortable silence, each processing. John lifts a hand to rub at the back of his own neck, trying to halt the flood of imagined possibilities which are suddenly flowing through an opened door in his mind. When he makes to lower the hand again, he hesitates, before stretching out his left arm and letting it rest along the back of the bench, behind Harold's shoulders. The wood is rough and grounding under his fingers. It helps him to relax.

 

Harold suddenly laughs. His eyebrows are raised, he's unimpressed but disarmed. "Is that your move, John? Predictable, but classic."

 

John grins at him. "Classic is good." But he shakes his head. "Believe me or not, I didn't mean it as a move."

 

Harold's face shifts from teasing to earnest. "I believe you. I trust you with everything." The unexpectedly tender emotional statement has John ducking his head, tucking his chin towards his chest.

 

"Likewise," he mutters, blinking rapidly to dispel gathering tears.

 

Harold is turning his whole body towards him, shifting his hips, leaning forward. Their knees brush. Harold puts his right hand down on a wooden slat of the bench seat for balance. His left hand lightly touches John's face, lifting his chin and turning his cheek. John smiles, tentatively, helplessly. Meeting Harold's loving eyes is a revelation, one that makes John's heart surge and _open_ , as though he hasn't truly let himself be alive again until this moment.

 

Then Harold's eyes drop to John's mouth. He strokes John's lips with his thumb.

 

John breathes in through his nose and closes his eyes. He blindly reaches out with his right hand until his fingertips glide over Harold's knee, just resting, not squeezing.

 

Harold presses in and their lips meet. John kisses back shyly, carefully. He grips the back of the bench almost painfully hard, as though if he digs his thumb in enough, it'll dissolve and wake him from this dream. But it's solid, and John stays. Harold's lips are soft yet insistent. His hand moves from John's cheek to his chest, over John's beating heart.

 

He draws back gently, to murmur something urgent and reverent. "I watched you for a long time, John. I loved you from almost the first day that I saw you."


End file.
